Iridescent
by thumos
Summary: A mistake - that's all it was. Theoretically, it shouldn't be possible for someone to just hop universes and end up in a game's world. And yet, here I am. In a butterfly's body, no less. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. OC self-insert.
1. Something I never thought I'd do but did

_Oh dear, I've fallen to the dreaded OC self-insert. But I'm going to try and do this one right. I'm going to try and not write a Mary Sue (even though she kind of is one by default), and make her integration into the plot believable and realistic._

_This was (quite heavily) inspired by the boom in non-Mary Sue self-insert fics in the Naruto fandom. I thought I'd try the same thing for a different fandom, just to see how it would turn out. I hope you enjoy?_

* * *

The story I'm about to tell you is a true one, as crazy and far-fetched as it may sound. My name is Lana, and I'm a butterfly – yes, you heard me. A butterfly. But, you see, I wasn't always a butterfly, and Lana wasn't always my name. Believe it or not, I used to be a human once, just like you. But then something went wrong. There was an accident, and, the next thing I knew, I was a tiny little caterpillar. I think I might have been reincarnated. Maybe this is all some weird dream I'm having before or after I died. I don't know, and I really don't want to.

Yes, I had to go through the whole metamorphosis thing too. Fortunately, though, normal puberty was way worse. At least metamorphosis was over and done with in a few days, and yay for no menstrual cycles!

The thing is, I didn't realize where exactly I was right away. It all started when I woke up in a dark place, completely surrounded by thick walls. I didn't care about where or what I was – all I wanted was to get _out_. So I pushed against the walls, slammed myself against them, and then, finally, the wall crumbled, and sunlight poured in.

I'm a Morpho butterfly. Under normal circumstances, we only live for about a hundred and fifteen days. We're supposed to stay in our cocoons for twenty to thirty days, and then, once adults, live only for two to three weeks longer before dying. As you can imagine, I was a little upset when I found out what exactly I was. It meant that I had less than a third of a year to live. That's less than four months. What was the point in being reincarnated if I was going to live for such little time?

It took one look at my home – a large, sprawling _city_, as opposed to a forest, which was supposed to be the habitat of a _normal_ Morpho butterfly – to realize that I wasn't exactly like normal butterflies. The fact that I was capable of human speech only reinforced my theory – that I was an _anthropomorphic_ butterfly. This was a little inconvenient, to say the least. It meant that my (already limited) knowledge of butterfly anatomy was next to useless. On the other hand, it meant that I had a pretty good chance of outliving my four-month deadline, and that, in and of itself, was pretty amazing. At this point, I didn't care who, what, or where I was – all I wanted was to _live_.

I soon came to realize that being an anthropomorphic Morpho butterfly, as opposed to a normal one, worked a lot in my favor. You see, in this world, "anthropomorphic" means that you exhibit some human characteristics while retaining most of your non-human ones. For me, I have pretty much the same brain as I did before I was reborn here. I was a caterpillar for a good two years before disappearing into my cocoon and going MIA for another three years. When I was five years old, though I had the mental capacity of a human child, I was physically an adult by butterfly standards. This, as you can imagine, was a bit of a problem.

I couldn't enroll in a school – what would people think when they saw me? Even in my old life, pride was one of my biggest weaknesses – it was what prevented me from seeking help before things got really bad. I was so terrified of what people would think when they saw me – saw my body, saw my wings, saw _everything_. So I decided to crash a kindergarten class – something that easily made the top of my personal list of "Things I never imagined that I would ever do, but did anyway". My main problem was that there was a language barrier. At that time, I didn't care what the language was – I couldn't remember how English was supposed to sound, I couldn't remember how Spanish was supposed to sound, I couldn't remember how Japanese was supposed to sound – I was completely alone in a world that I didn't understand. People must have thought I was a creepy stalker or something, because I remember spending a lot of time just listening endlessly to people's conversations, trying to understand what exactly they were saying. Over the course of my caterpillar days and (embarrassingly few) "adult" days, it (thankfully) became easier to understand the language the people around me spoke.

I spent most of my kindergarten days skulking in the shadows at the back of the classroom. I was always terrified of what would happen if the sun hit me – the light would reflect off my wings, I'd glow blue, and everyone would know exactly where and what I was. So I tried to avoid light as much as possible. Basically, when you crash a course, you sit in the lecture hall, even though you aren't officially enrolled in the class, and hope that the professor gives you an add code and lets you stay. May the odds be in your favor, and all that fun stuff. If you haven't gotten the picture already, this sort of thing is supposed to happen in _college_, not kindergarten. But sometimes, you've got to do what you've got to do, no matter how embarrassing it is. All I needed to know was how to read and write. I could work out the rest by myself. So, for about two months, I sat in the back of a kindergarten class, soaking up all the information the teacher had to offer (which wasn't much, since she was teaching a bunch of five- and six-year-olds – but then again, that's what I was too, so I have no right to talk). Once I was comfortable with piecing words together, I stopped attending (crashing) altogether and spent nearly all of my time in the library.

A few months of near endless reading, and the evidence for where I was mounted. It took several repetitions of "Station Square," "Chaos Emeralds," and "GUN" for the truth to finally sink in, for me to finally wrap my head around where I was – that this was the world of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

* * *

_Please don't hesitate to tell me if you think Lana is displaying too many Mary Sue qualities, or if you find anything else wrong with this. Tentatively, the main storyline will follow Sonic Adventure and, depending on how it goes, may or may not continue with Sonic Adventure 2._

_Please review!_


	2. Always look on the bright side of life

_The fourth wall is a sheet of saran wrap in this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

They say grief comes in five stages. In the week that followed the revelation (or, rather, the confirmation that I wasn't crazy or dreaming), I went through all of them.

First was denial. I told myself that this simply wasn't _possible_. I didn't care that GUN popped up in almost all the history books. I didn't care that the Chaos Emeralds were there in all the occult magazines. I didn't care that Station Square was a fairly large dot on the map, as opposed to a fictional place that existed only in games. I didn't care that I was a _butterfly_, for crying out loud. I didn't care, because it. Was. Not. Possible.

Then came anger. I tried to blame others for my predicament. I blamed the stupid truck driver who couldn't wait for _thirty seconds_ when his streetlight just turned red while mine was green. I blamed fate for messing with me and having me reincarnate (I think) as a _butterfly_, of all things. But mostly, I blamed myself for not paying more attention at that streetlight, for not having enough good karma in my favor to reincarnate as a _human_. And it all made me _furious_.

Next was bargaining. I'd never been a religious person, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I pleaded with every god I knew of – Jesus, Allah, Krishna, Buddha, everything I could possibly _think_ of – to revoke my fate. To take me back to the real world. To turn me back into a _human_ because I _hated_ being a butterfly so much. I tried to rationalize what I had to do to achieve retribution. How many people would I have to help? How many good deeds would I have to perform? What would it take for my life to go back to the way it was?

Then came depression. I did what all little girls do when they're scared and upset – I cried. I panicked. I bawled my eyes out. I wanted my mother – not the one who laid my egg in this world, but the one who actually gave birth to me in the other one. Five years in this world, and I didn't have _anyone_ who cared about me. I didn't have any friends, and I didn't have any friends. I was completely alone. I was at least partially to blame, for being so focused on figuring out what exactly was going on that I ignored anything and everything else around me, but that didn't make my situation any less _unfair_.

Finally, there was acceptance. So I was trapped in a relatively unfamiliar world, in an anthropomorphic butterfly's body, with no one to help me or support me. What could I possibly do about it? I didn't know how I got here in the first place, so how was I supposed to know how to get _back_? I had to stop thinking of myself as the human college student, who barely scraped through life by attending her classes and turning in her homework, and start thinking of myself as Lana the butterfly, who only had sarcasm and what passed for a brain to back her up.

And then, there was clarity. Determination. I could _do_ this.

First things first – I had to decide what time period I was in, and what I wanted to do from there. If I had another character (no, _not_ character, because they were real people now) that I could probably use for reference, things would be much easier. But I didn't, so I had to rely on the history books and recent events to determine what time period I was in.

The problem was that I was reincarnated into a series of loosely connected _games_. For all I knew, there was no strict timeline. I had a pretty good idea of the chronological _order _of the games, but I had no idea how much time passed _between_ the games. Moreover, in my old world, it had been _years_ since I'd played the games. I had no idea if the information I had on them was even reliable.

But there was one thing I _did_ remember fairly clearly – something to do with a fake Chaos Emerald at the end of Sonic Adventure 2. Why did the protagonists (no Lana, _not_ protagonists) feel the need to trick Dr. Eggman with a fake Emerald? Because they had the _real_ one in their possession. Tails was the one who made the fake Emerald, but did he make it _during_ the game, or _before_ it? No… he definitely made it before the game, which meant that _he _was the one who had the Emerald. Now _why_ did he have it?

It was pretty anticlimactic when the answer finally came to me, but I was excited, nonetheless. Tails was _awarded_ the Chaos Emerald by Station Square for his efforts in _saving_ it… back in the first Sonic Adventure. And there was supposed to be an article about that too! If I could find that article, then it meant that I was definitely in the time period after the first Sonic Adventure!

… only, no matter how hard I looked, I _couldn't_ find the article, and I couldn't tell if it was because it didn't exist yet, or it had been so long since the event that it just faded into obscurity. Speaking of Sonic Adventure… wasn't Station Square destroyed at the end of that game? If I could find records of the city being reconstructed, or of a water monster attacking the city, then it meant that I was definitely in the time period _after_ the first Sonic Adventure!

Lana, you are a _genius_.

I was awarded with yet another fruitless search, but I felt a lot better about my theory – namely, that the events of the first Sonic Adventure had yet to occur.

Unfortunately though, that just brought up more questions than it answered. How long did I have until Chaos was unleashed? What could I do about it? Better yet, could I do _anything_ about it? Would it make sense for me to interfere at all? I didn't want to know, and I could feel a particularly nasty migraine coming on from just _thinking_ about it. This was one of _those_ stories – the ones about people getting sucked into video games and having grand old adventures with the characters there. The ones that everyone hates, you know? I'm actually _living_ it.

My personal motto has always been, even in the other world: "Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best." So that was exactly what I decided to do. The truth was that, in my current body, I was next to useless. Butterflies are _fragile_ creatures, after all, even though they can get a bit territorial. And I was a Morpho butterfly too, which meant I had larger wings. Larger wings meant slower flying in general – it was something that was always there, but I never really noticed it until I actually thought about it. I was slow _and_ clumsy because my wings were too big, and, no matter what I did, I couldn't stop _bouncing_. And I'm not a prodigal genius like Tails – I'm not _that_ smart.

But I was an _anthropomorphic_ butterfly. My anatomy is different from that of a normal Morpho butterfly. I have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and _four_ limbs – two arms and two legs – instead of the six that I'm supposed to have. Not to mention, I have opposable thumbs, which meant that I can actually _grab_ things. As for the intelligence thing, either you're born a prodigy, or you aren't. I may not have had an amazing IQ, but, with the ridiculous amount of reading I'd done in the past couple of years, I could have passed for a walking (well, flying), talking encyclopedia. I could load my brain with more random trivia if I wanted. And I was good at _thinking_ too. I could solve puzzles. I could crack codes. I could see through traps.

I could _do _this.

At the time, I didn't know what exactly I wanted. I didn't know how much would have stayed the same as the games – either everything, because I'd have little to no impact on the games' plot at all, or nothing, because I'd actually _become_ a part of the main cast. Either way, it was a good idea not to plan too far ahead. I'd have to take each day as it came, and train myself physically and mentally so that, should I have to join the main cast (though hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that), I'd be more than ready.

Station Square? Bring. It. _On_.

* * *

_PLEASE REVIEW!_


	3. Things I hope you never experience

_Grossness and saran wrap fourth wall, so beware. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

When I was six years old, I officially became a hobo.

Leaving the library shouldn't have been _that_ big a surprise, if you think about it. I mean, it had to happen eventually. But what led up to it was another thing entirely.

Basically, I never had a place I could call home. I was born in a hollow tree (don't you _dare_ laugh) in a random park in Station Square, and I was raised on the streets. I literally lived in the library once I started crashing kindergarten. That's the problem with having two sets of conflicting memories in your head – I had twenty years' worth of memories of my old life, but I was _physically_ a six-year-old in my new one. I was a child, and no matter how old I was in the other world, I couldn't change that. I had the memories, but not the brain.

Another thing you should know is that pride is an extremely dangerous monster – even more vicious than the best of Dr. Eggman's E Series. It all started when I heard a little kid – I don't even know his name – ask the librarian who I was and why I was always at the library. The librarian calmly answered that I was a "poor little homeless girl" who lived in the library. Basically, the only reason they let me stay for so long was because they thought my "thirst for knowledge" was "cute" (her words, not mine).

Oh.

So I wasn't as invisible as I thought. No big deal, right? But, no matter what I did, I couldn't get the words "poor little homeless girl" out of my head. I was a _hobo_, for all intents and purposes. For all I knew, they didn't just ship me off to an orphanage because there probably were none in Station Square to begin with. Or maybe they really did just want to indulge my curiosity. Either way, I couldn't stay there. It was a point of pride. I could survive by myself. I'd done it for six years, and I could do it without the library's support.

So when I left, I left with a purpose. I was going to make a life for myself, _by_ myself. I'd learned to survive on my own, and I _would_ survive on my own. I didn't need anyone's pity. I didn't _need_ help.

… or rather, that's what I thought. But fate had another thing in store for me. When you're being stupid, like I was at the time, the world tends to kick you around a little and make you its little chew toy. I couldn't get a place of my own because I had to _pay_ for one, and I had no money whatsoever. No one would hire a six-year-old, so I couldn't exactly _get_ money either.

Being a hobo isn't exactly as easy as you might think it is – _especially_ when you're a little kid and you don't know any better. Sure, you get sympathy from passersby, maybe a few Rings here and there, but no one takes you seriously. In the few months that followed my departure from the library, that I spent on the streets of Station Square, I constantly wondered where my next meal was going to come from and where I was going to sleep without getting into trouble. I couldn't go back to my old tree because I couldn't exactly fit in it anymore either. The thought of committing some petty crime so that I would get locked up in prison crossed my mind a lot more often than I'd like to admit. At least in prison, you have a roof over your head and enough food to sustain you (even if the food is disgusting, but beggars can't be choosers). But I couldn't have that. I was going to survive completely on my own, remember? I didn't _need_ help.

There are many different kinds of hunger, such as the I'm-on-a-diet hungry, the I'll-skip-dinner-as-punishment hungry, and the I've-had-a-really-tough-workout hungry. But perhaps the worst kind you could ever experience (and I sincerely hope you never have to go through this) is the _there-is-no-food_ hungry. With the there-is-no-food hungry, you don't have a stocked fridge at home to go back to if things get bad (in my case, I didn't have a home to go back to either). It wasn't until I experienced this level of hungry that I realized just how well the library took care of me.

They let me sleep there, even though they could've kicked me out any time they wanted. The food left here and there – from the half-eaten sandwiches to the suspiciously whole fruit – wasn't just abandoned by people who visited the library; it was left there _for me_ by the librarians. On more than one occasion, I woke up in the morning with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, though I stupidly never questioned where it came from or why it was even there. It wasn't until I left that I realized just how much I took for _granted_…

An orphan is a child that doesn't have parents to speak of. It doesn't matter if you knew your parents or not – if you simply don't have them, you're an orphan by default. In my case, I was a street rat _and_ an orphan. In those three months that I spent on the streets, I thought about myself more than I ever had in my entire life – and my life was practically _built around_ thinking. I wondered who my parents were – or rather, _what_ my parents were. Was my anthropomorphism the result of some strange voodoo, or was it because I legitimately had a butterfly parent and a human parent? Was that even _possible_?

(Yes, Lana. This is the Sonic universe. It's possible. Crazy, but possible.)

But if there's one thing I know about anthropomorphism, it's that it's entirely possible to get human diseases, even if you aren't entirely human yourself. In my case, it was pneumonia. Pneumonia's right up there with there-is-no-food hungry on the list of things I hope you never have to experience. Have you ever had the flu? Multiply that by a hundred. _That's_ pneumonia.

What happens when you get sick as a kid? Your mom tucks you in bed and feeds you some nice hot chicken noodle soup, and you just sleep all day? I didn't have that luxury. It all started one day when I started feeling really tired all of a sudden – at noon, no less. As much as I wanted to just lie down and sleep for the rest of the day, I couldn't, because I'd get in trouble.

A couple hours later, I started coughing. It wasn't too bad at first, but then, by the time I coughed so much that I eventually threw up, I panicked. From that point forward, I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want to eat anything, but I _had_ to accept any and all food I could get, because I had no idea when my next meal was going to come. I managed to choke down a half-eaten sandwich left on a table outside a restaurant, only to throw up again later.

That was the first time I truly feared for my life.

At the time, I didn't know I had pneumonia, so the fact that I couldn't hold down any food, the fact that I still threw up even when there was nothing _there_ to throw up, _frightened_ me. Homeless children have a few advantages that adult homeless people don't – namely, that people tend to sympathize with them more and are more generous with children in general. But when you're a _sick_ child on the street, that advantage is _gone_. Worse – people _avoid_ you altogether, because they themselves don't want to get sick.

There-is-no-food hungry was gone, but it was replaced by not being able to eat _at all_. And you _have_ to eat to survive, even if you don't want to. Even if you can't stomach it.

A few more hours, and I started shivering. Fever-cold and temperature-cold are two very different things. With temperature-cold, it's all external. You get goose bumps, and the hair on your arms rises up. You can always put on a jacket or snuggle with a blanket to warm up. With fever-cold, on the other hand, you can't warm up, because it's all _internal_. Sometimes, it's like you're cold and hot at the same times. Other times, you're just cold, only it's like you're freezing from the inside. It's one of the most horrible feelings in the world.

But the thing is, I was _scared_ to sleep. I was sure I'd get better if I slept it off, but I _couldn't_, because it was too early in the day, and I'd get in trouble or thrown in prison. I couldn't go to the hospital, because I couldn't pay for health care, and I couldn't go to anyone for help because I didn't _know_ anyone. If I had even an ounce of common sense, I would've gone back to the library and asked one of the librarians for help.

But I was too proud, so I didn't.

I don't know how long I wandered the streets, always teetering on the edge of passing out entirely, ducking my head into trashcans or bushes every so often to throw up, trying to muffle my coughs so that people wouldn't stay away. I was _lonely_, but I still wanted to be _alone_. It was a very confusing feeling. But most of all, I was _scared_. I'd throw up everything I ate. I'd throw up even if I didn't have anything in my stomach. I was growing more and more dehydrated by the minute, and it was making my fever worse. I seriously thought I was going to _die_.

And, as it turns out, I wasn't too far off. Getting pneumonia – and other nasty diseases – while living on the streets is practically a death sentence. You can't just go to a pharmacy and get some Tylenol to bring down your fever, or some Tums to make your stomach feel better, or some aspirin to make your headache go away. You hear about times when characters get sick, and everyone else puts everything on hold to take care of said sick character. Said sick person may or may not collapse dramatically with a fever, looking all cute and adorable while everyone waits hand and foot on her. That, unfortunately, is horribly unrealistic. No matter which way you look at it, being sick is _gross_.

Luck also plays a pretty big role in all of this. For me, I still had a little Mary Sue immunity left in my system. Mary Sues aren't allowed to die inglorious deaths of dehydration, starvation, and illness. Not with a fizzle, but with a bang. We can only have wimpy deaths when we're old. Even though we're pretty much universally hated, there _are_ certain perks to being a Mary Sue. Like Lady Luck.

And it was Lady Luck who guided me to the hotel that day… actually, not really. I just sort of stumbled upon it. I felt so sick that I thought that, if I just lay down on a couch in the hotel for a while, I'd be fine. The hotel staff would wake me up when it was time for me to leave. I wouldn't get in trouble. It was a shame I didn't think of this earlier.

What I didn't expect, however, was to suddenly get the worst coughing fit of my life in the middle of the hotel lobby. My chest hurt, and I coughed up blood. I was so terrified that I didn't even care that everyone was staring at me. I was so sure that I was going to die. There was no hope for me. But the coughing didn't stop there. I ended up throwing up again – right in the center of the hotel lobby. I was making a huge mess, but I didn't know what to do to stop it, or if I even had the strength to clean up after myself. My head felt heavy, but my body felt as light as a feather. And it was so _cold_ that I couldn't stop shivering. People were whispering, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. A pair of arms hauled me onto a couch, and a cup of water was pressed to my mouth. The water was nice and cold, and it made me feel so much better, but I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. It wasn't long before I drifted off entirely.

When I woke up again, I was still feverish, but no longer nauseated or dehydrated. I could breathe more easily too, and that came as a huge relief. I didn't know where I was or what time it was, but I could figure that all out later; I'd be okay. A kind-looking (human) woman was sitting next to me, smiling at me when I finally noticed her. "You're finally awake," she said.

My first instinct was to run away, but I was so weak that I couldn't even sit up, let alone get out of bed. The reality of the situation settled in at that point. I didn't know who she was or why she cared to pay attention to me. Did I wrong her in some way? Why was she here with me instead of going on with her own life?

"What's your name?" she asked. But my vocal cords refused to work, and I couldn't bring myself to speak. "Oh, your voice is probably gone. You're probably confused about things right now, aren't you?" I flinched when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. "You've been very ill. You're in the hospital now." That would probably explain why I didn't recognize my surroundings. "Don't worry – you're almost better. You aren't going to die." That lifted a huge weight off my chest. "You caught pneumonia. No one I spoke to knew who you were or who your family was, so, for now, I'm your temporary guardian."

Guardian? As in _parent_? Why would she do something like that for a nobody like me?

"My name is Marissa. I run the hotel in this city. Don't worry – you're safe now." I could feel myself drifting off, and Marissa chuckled. "You're probably exhausted. It's okay. You can sleep for as long as you want."

And, in the week that followed, I grew to _love_ the hospital. I got to wear fresh, clean clothes for the first time in years, I had a roof over my head, I could sleep whenever I wanted without having to worry about getting into trouble, and I could eat whenever I wanted. I didn't take advantage of these opportunities as much as I'd like, however. I was still pretty sick, and there were certain foods that I couldn't stomach. Every time I vomited, I felt horrible about myself, because it was like I was wasting all that food. Now it's in a form no one can eat.

But, for some reason, the nurses never got angry. Maybe it was because I was so ill. Maybe they were just taking pity on me. It never occurred to me that people throwing up all the time just wasn't a big deal for them, specifically because it happened all the time.

Marissa came back after a week – or rather, she was always there, but I was only conscious enough to see her a week later. "You're looking a lot better," she said as soon as I woke up and noticed her. "So, do you mind telling me your name?"

I wanted to trust her. She just seemed so _nice_… but people were all out for themselves, so why should she be an exception? I swear, I wasn't being paranoid – it's perfectly normal to suspect others and not take them at face value. But my _name_ couldn't hurt. Hardly anyone knew it anyway, so what was one more person? "Lana," I answered finally.

"Lana," she repeated, her smile widening. "That's a beautiful name." She probably had some hidden agenda or something; there was no way someone as wealthy and beautiful as her – her fancy clothes and perfectly styled hair just _screamed_ rich – would want to associate with a street rat like me. But I had no idea what to say to her. The safest thing to do at that point was to just keep quiet. "You're a quiet one, aren't you, Lana?" It was strange, hearing someone else say my name like that. This was the first time I'd ever introduced myself to someone, so it was hard not to think of what she could possibly be thinking of me. "Do you remember my name?

… oh, she expected me to answer. "Marissa."

"Good!" she said cheerfully. "You remember! Lana, can I ask you something?" I nodded, but I had a feeling she was going to continue anyway. "Where are your parents?"

Just answer as honestly as possible – it's the easiest way to get through things, and it beats having to waste time digging through lies. "I don't know," I told her. "I've never met them."

Her smiled faltered just a little at that, and she finally broke eye contact with me for the first time, her eyes averting downward. "That's what I thought… I'm sorry to hear that…" I couldn't read the look in her eyes when she finally looked back at me, but I knew it was something good. "Lana? How would you like to work at the hotel?" This time, I truly didn't know what to say. I was at a complete loss for words.

I'll be honest – a significant part of me didn't believe her. I'd read enough books to know that horrible things happened to kids who blindly trusted strangers. And a girl like me – a _butterfly_, no less – could potentially have it way worse than a boy. _Bad things_ happened to girls who trusted strange men who offered them jobs. They could be sold into prostitution, or turned into sex slaves, or even _traditional_ slaves for that matter.

Then again, Marissa was a _woman_. But that didn't necessarily mean that she could be any less dangerous. "We're going to open up a new attraction at the hotel," Marissa continued. "A Chao garden. Do you know what Chao are?" Did she think I was an idiot? Of _course_ I knew what Chao were – small creatures about which the world knew next to nothing – only that they were so cute and relatively harmless that they were easy to domesticate. I nodded, and Marissa's smile widened. "Well, we're looking for people to work in the Chao garden – to look after the Chao already there. It's not too difficult a job. All you have to do is feed them every three hours, play with them on occasion, and make sure the ones that can't swim don't go in the water. I'll pay you too." Wait, what was that? "It won't be much. You'll be given a room to stay in, and three meals a day, so all of that will cut into your paycheck. But, even with all of that, you'll still make about ten rings an hour – just a little more than minimum wage. What do you say?"

This had to be a trap – it was just too good to be true. A roof over my head, enough food to eat so that I wouldn't go hungry, _and_ money in my pocket? Was she really _that_ desperate for workers? "Why me?" I asked her honestly.

Her expression hardened as she clenched her fists. "Because children like you don't belong out in the streets," she answered, a hint of bitterness to her voice. "You should be in school, or playing with your friends, not trying to figure out when your next meal is going to come or where you'll stay for the night."

"Then why not someone else?" I asked a bit rudely. In hindsight, maybe this wasn't the best way to deal with the situation, but I still can't think of a more polite way to deal with a complete stranger randomly offering me a job for no apparent reason.

"Lana, sweetheart, _you_ came to _my_ hotel, seriously ill and almost dead on your feet," Marissa said bluntly. "And you just told me that you have no parents and no place to stay. I'd be a heartless person to not sympathize with someone like _that_. As difficult as this may be to believe, I _want _to help you."

I had nothing left to lose. What harm could accepting a job like this do? Part of me insisted that I shouldn't trust Marissa, but another part was terrified at how she'd react if I said no. I'd heard that she was the one paying my medical bills at the moment – what if she stopped paying them if I refused? I couldn't afford medicine of any kind, let alone the kind they were giving me (penicillin, I think).

"I'll do it," I answered, though it wouldn't be until years later that I finally stopped doubting that decision.

* * *

_Please review!_


	4. Things change quickly

As it turned out, I didn't start work right away. Basically, Marissa was paranoid that I'd suffer a relapse, so she made me take another week off to recuperate, while I got situated in my new home.

And my new home was _awesome_.

I know what you're thinking – living in a hotel means that I can get room service whenever I want, use the hotel's facilities whenever I want, and just generally have a good time. Well, only the third one is true. My room wasn't a hotel room – at least, not in the conventional sense. It was small, with a lofted bed, a desk with a lamp, a dresser, and a TV. That was _way_ more than I'd ever had. I had a lot to be thankful for in my new home.

The Chao garden was… well, a _garden_, for lack of a better term. It was basically a large room with the same white and green marble tile floor that the hotel lobby possessed, with a few grassy areas covered with trees, and fountains in the corners of the room. And the Chao themselves – they were a different story entirely.

You guessed it – Chao are just as cute in real life as they are in fiction. And it's entirely possible to waste away hours just spending time with them. Luckily for me, that was my _job_. All I had to do was keep an eye on them, make sure they didn't cause trouble or fight with each other, and make sure the ones that couldn't swim stayed out of the water. If people came in, I had to make sure that no Chao were taken out of the garden, since the place was pretty much a tiny little petting zoo for now.

According to Marissa, when more people found out about it, it would be converted into a sort of Chao day care, where people could leave their Chao for a bit and take them back later. People would also be able to purchase Chao eggs and raise their own (certain restrictions apply within the garden, of course; see the hotel manager or the Chao garden manual for details). It was in this new job that I made my two best friends in the entire world, one of which is a Chao.

The week before I started work, right after I got out of the hospital, Marissa gave me a Chao egg so I could get a feel for the little creatures themselves – of course, there's a huge difference between mashing a few buttons to feed Chao and actually taking care of them, so I was glad for this opportunity. The egg was pink – Marissa was under the impression that all girls liked pink, apparently. Less than twelve hours later, the egg hatched, and my new baby Chao promptly covered her head with a discarded eggshell. And thus, Chika was born.

The problem here is that the games don't really describe Chao anatomy that well. I was always under the impression that Chao were genderless to begin with, so you can imagine my surprise when Marissa told me that Chika was a girl. While Chao certainly don't have the… parts that humans do, there are subtle differences between male and female Chao. For example, the little amorphous orb on top of a Chao's head is slightly larger and more brightly colored on males than on females. Likewise, females are generally slightly larger than males, as they're the ones that lay eggs. It takes seeing a lot of male _and_ female newborns to really be able to tell the difference as soon as the egg hatches, so it would be a while before I got anywhere close to that level.

How are the stories supposed to go? Mary Sue gets a lovely little Chao companion that's basically her in Chao form? And then the Chao is supposed to be all badass and fight for her and stuff? Not Chika. Chika was – still is – a complete, utter _brat_.

Okay, I'll admit it. Her being a spoiled little princess is partially my fault… Okay, so it's mostly my fault. I spoiled her rotten. I didn't think it was possible for the games to fail in the Chao cuteness department, but they did. Chao are just way cuter in real life than they are when they're pixelated little polygons.

(Ugh… this was _real life_ now…)

Also, because I had no experience in raising, well, _anything_, I just gave Chika whatever she wanted when she asked for it. Nonetheless, I loved her, and she loved me, and we were from the minute she hatched.

My other best friend was my coworker, Cheryl, a tall, skinny human girl with long black hair she constantly wore in a side braid and walnut-shaped eyes. Cheryl was only in eighth grade, but she had to work to save money for college, since she had six younger siblings, and only her father had a job. She and I took shifts – I'd watch the Chao while she did her homework in the corner of the garden, and then she'd watch the Chao while I buried my nose in a book. For the first couple of weeks upon meeting each other, we barely said two words to each other outside what was necessary – we were both shy, awkward individuals after all.

Our first _real_ conversation was as awkward as you can imagine. Chika, mischievous little monkey that she was, stole one of the sheets of Cheryl's math homework, and it wasn't until Chika pooped something akin to paper that she even realized that it was missing. "I'm _so_ sorry," I apologized. Chika was _my _Chao, so I was sorry on principle. Besides – it was downright embarrassing that Chika could be so _stupid_.

"It's okay," Cheryl told me with a gentle smile. "I can always get it from one of my friends."

"No, it's not okay," I retorted a bit glumly. "Because then you'll get in trouble, and then you won't get into college, and then working here will be a waste!"

I don't know what I was expecting, but I definitely wasn't prepared for her to burst out laughing. "It really is okay, Lana," she told me. "My math teacher likes me, so I'm sure she'll let this one slide anyway. History's my problem." She tapped the open textbook lying in her lap with her pencil.

"History?" I repeated as I peered into her book. Well hello there, GUN history. "I'm good at history."

"You are? Then you can help me!"

And so, I spent an hour helping Cheryl with her history homework, which was, honestly, so ridiculously easy that I couldn't believe she even had a little trouble with it. Then again, literally spending years in the library, cramming everything from historical and scientific facts to random trivia into my brain _did_ have its perks.

When Cheryl was done with all her homework, we just sat and talked while watching the Chao in the garden. "I want to be a doctor," Cheryl told me, "but college is _so_ expensive, and then there's med school after that…"

"Is that why you're working here?" I asked her. In hindsight, that was a little rude, but hey, I was barely accustomed to social norms at that point.

Thankfully, Cheryl wasn't offended. "Yeah," she answered. "It's why I need to get straight As in high school – so I can actually get scholarships for college."

Scholarships – awards given to certain exceptional students, often in the form of having part or, in some cases, all of their tuition waived. "You'll get it," I told her honestly. "You're really smart."

She giggled and rubbed the top of my head affectionately. "Not as smart as you," she said. "Or… well… I wasn't as smart as you are when I was your age. I heard you pretty much lived in the library before you came here. Is that true?" Being homeless for the first six years of my life was shameful, but actually _admitting_ it to someone else was another thing entirely. The fact that I lived in the library for years was just a fact – no one asked me about it, and I never volunteered any information about it. To hear Cheryl ask me about it so bluntly was a bit of a shock. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to offend you. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Sorry…" I apologized.

"It actually sounds pretty cool, if you think about it," Cheryl continued. "I mean, all those books, right at your fingertips, not having to worry about library cards or late fees…"

Again, something I should have remembered from my previous life, but, for some reason, didn't in my new one. It was scary, how the details of my previous life just kept getting blurrier and blurrier by the day. "Library card?" I repeated. "What's that?"

She explained to me what I should have already known – how could I not _know_? – and, as with all the books and magazines and encyclopedias I read, I soaked up the information with a sponge. When my first paycheck came, the first thing I did was go to the library and purchase my own library card, so I could read and cram more information in my spare time. Strength wasn't going to be that great of an asset, so I needed all the advantages I could get.

Speaking of strength, I started jogging… well, flying's equivalent to jogging. Every morning, before I showered and started work, I flew around the block. And, let me tell you, flying to improve your physical condition – as opposed to flying to just get somewhere – is _hard_. Maybe it's because I'm a Morpho butterfly. Morphos have larger wings, but the larger surface area doesn't exactly mean greater speed. Because my wings are so large, they're _heavy_ too. Even today, I can't fly in a straight line without bouncing a little each time my wings flap.

But I would get better. I _had_ to, if I wanted to survive what was about to come. Even if I didn't join the main cast – and, at this point, I both wanted to and didn't want to – I still had to be able to protect the Station Square Hotel. These people have given me so much – the least I can do is watch their backs.

And so, I fell into a routine. Wake up, work out, breakfast, shower, work, lunch break, more work, dinner, read, and then sleep. After two weeks, Chika started accompanying me on my morning runs (flying sessions?), which made things significantly less lonely. If I couldn't help Sonic and his friends, then maybe Chika could.

No, Lana. Don't think about that. Just do what you have to do, and everything else will fall into place. Don't think about something that is most likely not going to happen.

And so, the years passed. When I was eleven, I finally saved up enough Rings for a gym membership, and I added weight training to my morning workout sessions. I guess I became desensitized to the whole Sonic game world thing, because, over time, I stopped thinking about what used to be just fictional characters to me. Out of sight, out of mind. I just had to be physically and mentally ready for whatever life threw at me.

Also, when I was eleven, Cheryl graduated high school. She invited me to her graduation ceremony, in a wide open field where everyone was dressed in long white robes. As with almost everything else, I knew I'd done something like this before, but I just couldn't remember the _details_. Cheryl graduated with high honors, with a full ride to the University of Soleanna seven-year med program – which pretty much meant that she'd be leaving me. Oh, she promised to hang out with me every time she came back home for a visit, but over the past several years, I'd come to see Cheryl as a sort of constant in my life – something that was always there, and always _would_ be there. Maybe it was really naïve of me to think that way, but to see her gone, to actually have to work _without_ her, was pretty disconcerting.

And, over the years, the Chao garden evolved from a fairly large room with patches of grass and small fountains to _several_ rooms – a lobby, three separate gardens for Chao to play in, a Chao clinic, and a Chao school. Naturally, this meant that there were more employees assigned to the Chao gardens, but I was never particularly close to any of them – and I'd never interacted with any of them anyway, so it would be kind of weird to start.

To be honest, I was _lonely_ when Cheryl left. Yes, Chika was always there, helping me with my duties, serving as a mediator between fighting Chao, pulling drowning Chao out of pools and such, but she wasn't _human_, or rather, human-like. It just wasn't the same. I know that makes me sound totally ungrateful, and I feel horrible about it, but I can't help it. Two more years passed by uneventfully.

But then, everything changed when _they_ showed up.

In hindsight, maybe my official introduction to _entirely_ fictional characters was a little anticlimactic. They showed up early in the morning, when there was only me and a few other employees working. I was the most experienced worker there, so I was the welcoming committee. "Welcome to the Chao gardens," I said, as per routine, not really paying attention to whom I was speaking to. "Is this your first visit with us today?"

"Yeah, it is." The voice that answered was familiar, but I knew for a fact that I'd never heard it in my new life, which meant that I never once spoke to the person it belonged to. Which meant…

I nearly toppled over when I saw a blue hedgehog and a yellow fox with two tails standing in front of me, smiling. I may or may not have opened and closed my mouth several times in an attempt to compose myself. I ducked under my desk to pull out two white and blue spotted eggs, clearing my throat and hoping my unease didn't show. "P-Please accept these complimentary Chao eggs," I said, practically flinging the eggs at them (no, Lana, that's not good for the unborn Chao). "N-Now, if you would follow me into the main garden? I-I can show you how to properly care for your Chao."

"Sweet!" the blue hedgehog – _Sonic_, my mind screamed – whooped. "This is going to be awesome!"

"Can we take these Chao outside the garden?" the two-tailed fox – _Tails_ – asked me.

"Th-That's up to you," I replied shakily. Oh god, I was _never_ this nervous around customers. Chika waited for me in the main garden, and she perked up when I entered. The poor thing looked so confused when she saw me look so shaken up.

Sonic the hedgehog was _here_, in _my_ Chao garden (well, not my garden, per se, but you know what I mean). Tails was here. This could only mean one thing.

Things were about to get very messy, very quickly.


	5. No one takes Mary Sues seriously

When faced with a situation like this, ideally, you should take a step back and think things through before making a move. But reality doesn't always work that way. I had a full on panic attack. It was so bad that Marissa actually contemplated taking me to the hospital, and even after I calmed down, she made me stay in bed and relax for the rest of the day. To make matters worse, when I turned on the TV later that day, the first thing I saw was a news report on a water-like monster wreaking havoc in Station Square. A little later, and I got a phone call from Cheryl, telling me to be careful and stay safe.

All in all, it wasn't a good day.

I had two options: I could either talk to Sonic and try to convince him that I'd be of some use to him (which probably wouldn't work anyway, because why would someone like him care about an old Chao garden attendant like me?), or I could just try to live my life as normally as possible, and not freak out too much whenever he showed up in the Chao garden. But there was one problem I couldn't avoid: one way or another, the water monster, Chaos, would destroy Station Square. I managed to write down most of the details in a notebook before my memory of my old life deteriorated, so I wasn't _completely_ helpless.

But did my presence in this world change things at all? Sure, there wasn't anyone like me among the main cast, but what if I was slated to be an insignificant, nameless character in the story? If I was, then I could live my life normally, but if I wasn't, then a good chunk of the information I had was next to useless, since they were based on a scenario where I _wasn't_ there. If I tried to change things, that would just make things even stickier. I could feel a migraine coming on, just thinking about it. There's something Cheryl always used to say: if it's too hard to face something now, face it later. That doesn't mean you should procrastinate or anything though; it just means that sometimes, it's easier to think about things in hindsight. In theory, it was the best solution, but it was a lot easier said than done. The only way I could _not_ think about it was if I completely invested myself in a book or some difficult task.

As it turns out, I was forced to think about it again later that night when I found Chaos in my garden. Sadly, it didn't surprise me nearly as much as it should have. But, looking at him, I honestly couldn't see what was so bad about him. He… kind of reminded me of Chika, actually. He played with the Chao, and like Chika, served as a mediator when and if they started fighting and pulled the ones who couldn't swim out of the pools. Before I could process what was happening, Chika started playing with him, circling around him, laughing at him, and he just watched with what would probably be a tender expression if he were human.

I hid behind a tree and watched Chaos from there. A fairly large, significant part of me was terrified, because all the news stories said to _stay the hell away from him_ and contact the police immediately if you saw him. But seeing him so gentle towards the Chao… how could something like that possibly be dangerous? Chao are more trusting toward their own kin than to humans, even humans that they've known since birth, and the love and trust they seemed to feel for Chaos was just like that. Chaos certainly didn't _look_ like a normal Chao, but I could read his expressions almost as well as I could read normal Chao's expressions. The news stories described him as a cold, ruthless monster, but all I saw that night was warmth, love, and affection.

But then, Chaos stiffened suddenly, and, in the blink of an eye, there was something squishy and cold wrapped around my wrist and I was being dragged out from behind the tree. My wings flapped miserably in a feeble attempt to keep up with the speed at which Chaos was pulling me towards him. He stared at me with a serious expression, and, though he didn't seem angry, I could tell that if I made one wrong move, he could very well snap.

Time seemed to slow down at that moment. Chaos had one watery tentacle appendage thing wrapped around my wrist. His emerald-like eyes were boring into mine. I was nearly hyperventilating because I was so terrified. Despite all the training I crammed in, I had no combat experience whatsoever, so I couldn't fight him off, even if I somehow mustered the bravery to do it. The Chao were completely silent as they watched us.

And then, Chika spoke up in my defense. I don't know what exactly she said – all I know is that, as she spoke to Chaos, Chaos's grip on my wrist slowly loosened until he released me altogether. When Chika was done talking, Chaos stared at me and bowed his head. Did that mean he respected me? I don't know, and I don't think it matters, but, for better or worse, I couldn't feel any hostility from him regarding me.

I'm not going to lie – my ego swelled like a hot air balloon. Chaos actually _liked_ me. Did this mean I could actually influence him in some way? Did this mean I was finally _useful_?

No, Lana, it doesn't mean anything, other than the fact that you aren't a colossal dick to Chao, and Chaos happened to see that. So get your head out of your ass and start thinking about what's possibly going to happen.

The thing is, the media basically told everyone to run screaming in the other direction when and if they saw Chaos. But did people actually know that Chaos wasn't as bad as the media made him out to be? I couldn't remember why he went on a rampage, but I could tell it had something to do with Chao, given the kindness and gentleness with which he treated them. So there's a simple solution: don't hurt Chao, and Chaos will remain harmless.

Then again, that was just with Chao. What about everything else? Chaos was fine with me, but only because Chika convinced him that I wasn't a bad person. Chika. A Chao. It still didn't mean anything, other than the fact that Chaos would hesitate maybe a minute before killing me along with everyone else.

No, Lana, Chaos _isn't_ a monster. You've seen that with the way he treats Chao. He actually has a heart (metaphorically). He's not _all_ bad.

Before I could contemplate the issue further, the door to the Chao garden opened. "Lana?" I heard Marissa say. "It's almost midnight. What are you doing here so late? Your shift ended hours ago."

Chaos stiffened again, and I shot him a pleading look. Please don't do anything to Marissa, please don't…

Marissa screamed when she saw Chaos. "Lana, get away from that thing!" she shrieked. "It's dangerous! Haven't you been watching the news?"

"Marissa, it's okay!" I tried to reason with her. "He's good with the Chao. The Chao actually _like_ him! I think… I think he might be a Chao himself, so—"

"Did you know that he killed five police officers last week?" Marissa cut me off. "Even the famed Sonic the hedgehog couldn't defeat him! That thing is dangerous!" I turned to look at Chaos, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I saw a blue squishy puddle slinking over to one of the ponds and disappearing entirely in it. Marissa sighed in relief. "Thank goodness… It's gone. I don't know what I would have done if it hurt you or the Chao…"

The worst part was that I felt… _relieved_, almost. Except I _shouldn't_ have felt that way, because, for all I knew, maybe Chaos _did_ have good intentions. Though he wasn't harmless, maybe he really was as kind and loving and nurturing as he was to the Chao just a moment ago. I barely got two hours of sleep that night, because I couldn't stop thinking about what happened the night before.

"Annoying" is the only way I can express the following day. From the crack of dawn, up until the Chao garden closed down, the hotel was swarmed with news reporters and journalists, always asking for a quote. I lost count of how many times I was asked if I was okay or if Chaos did anything to me or the Chao. After a while, I just stopped talking altogether and locked myself in my room, half-assing an excuse to Marissa to get out of my duties for the day. Besides, it's not like anyone would believe me, no matter how many times I said that Chaos was actually _nice_ to me and the Chao. What did I know? I was just the antisocial bookworm who couldn't get two words out without stuttering once.

When I finally came out of my room, almost an hour after I was sure all the reporters had left, I found Sonic and Tails in the library. A hotel employee pointed to me as I approached them, and Sonic and Tails's eyes widened in concern. "Are you okay?" Tails asked me. "I heard you ran into Chaos yesterday."

"Must've been pretty scary, huh?" Sonic asked, almost condescendingly (or maybe that was just me overanalyzing it). "Face to face with a monster like that…"

I didn't care that these two were heroes. I didn't care that they were supposed to be the "good guys". I just couldn't take it anymore. "Don't you people get it?" I demanded. "Chaos is _not_ a monster! He was _nice_ to me and the Chao! He didn't do anything except play with them! He's harmless!"

"Um…" Tails mumbled. "He killed a few police officers the other day…"

My nervousness and shyness returned tenfold. I wanted so badly to apologize for my outburst, but I didn't dare open my mouth in case I snapped again. I could feel tears stinging my eyes not because I was scared, but because I was _angry_. "It's okay," Sonic told me consolingly. "We'll make sure he doesn't bother you again."

"H-He didn't do anything!" I yelled, but what little credibility I had was gone the second I stuttered.

"Well, we checked the garden and he wasn't there," Sonic continued, as if I hadn't said a word. "So I'm pretty sure your hotel is safe."

I clenched my fists, but I didn't say a word. Why was everyone blowing me off? Sonic was only a couple years older than me, so why did everyone believe him and not me? The answer was simple: because I was a _nobody_.

That's the problem with being a Mary Sue – nobody takes you seriously. Not the people you're trying to help, not the people to whom you're telling your story. _Nobody_. If you want people to _start_ taking you seriously, you have to take matters into your own hands, pull your own weight, and, for lack of a better term, get shit done. Everyone starts as a nobody – even people like Sonic, Tails, and Dr. Eggman. You just have to work your way up.

And it was with that mindset that I finally decided to _do _something about Chaos. People didn't believe me when I said that Chaos was actually kind and gentle and loving? I'd _prove_ it to them. Chika managed to convince him to spare me. If she could do that, she could convince him to spare everyone and everything else. I just had to guide her to Chaos – that was my role in this story.

But could I really do anything? I wasn't entirely sure until I talked to Cheryl a couple days later. "Just go," she told me. "Trust me. You'll regret it later if you don't."

And so I told Marissa everything – my frustration at how things turned out, and what I wanted to do to improve it, although I left out the part that I had a vague idea of what was going to happen if I didn't do anything, coming from the fact that I was reincarnated. I didn't expect her to agree – I was in her debt, since she saved me from the streets and gave me a place to stay, after all. All I knew was that I _had_ to do this. I couldn't just sit by and wait for things to happen, like I'd been doing for my entire life. I had the power to do something meaningful, and I'd be an idiot to pass up the opportunity.

But, strangely enough, Marissa _did_ agree. She gave me a fairly large backpack and stuffed it with food, water bottles, spare clothes, and enough Rings to last me for at least a month. She told me to come back to the hotel whenever I could so I could restock, and to check in with her so she would know that I was okay. All my planning, all my training was finally going to pay off.

I could _do_ this.

* * *

_Please review!_


End file.
